Thy Kingdom Come
by SherlockedAngelofHyrule
Summary: Moriarty's death was all an elaborate demon deal which included siding the weeping angels to get Sherlock. Really, everything had been planned. Planned so perfectly. What he didn't account for, was that fact that this would unite five completely different people who are willing to save the world. Can they put aside their differences to do it though? SuperWhoLock.
1. Chapter 1: Stone Statues Do Not Move

_**Fandom: **SuperWhoLock_

_**Title: **Thy Kingdom Come_

_**Summary: **Moriarty's death was all an elaborate demon deal which included siding the weeping angels to get Sherlock. Really, everything had been planned. Planned so perfectly. What he didn't account for, was that fact that this would unite five completely different people who are willing to save the world. Can they put aside their differences to do it though? SuperWhoLock._

_**Timeframe: **Sherlock; AU after Season 3. Supernatural; AU of Season 10X3 Soul Survivor. Doctor Who; AU after The Angels Take Manhattan; sadly, I know guys. I wanted Amy and Rory in this as well, but this all just works out like how it is._

_**Rating: **T for now. Possible M for violence and such_

_**Pairings: **None. Reference to some and jokes, but no pairings._

_**Spoilers: **See above._

_**Characters:** Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel (Possibly), Eleventh Doctor, Moriarty (Possibly), Weeping Angels, Daleks (Possibly)._

_**Authors Note: **Hello, and welcome to my first multi-chapter fanfic. Of course, it's going to be a nice long journey, and I'm hoping to help keep you guys interested in. If there are any suggestions on what I could do to make this better, please do let me know!_

* * *

_**Chapter One: **__Stone Statues Do Not Move_

This was absurd. Completely and absolutely absurd. This was physically impossible. Sherlock knew it was impossible. It was physically impossible. Completely and utterly impossible.

_Stone statues, did not move._ They simply didn't move. They were stone for a reason.

So then why was he running? Why were his feet pounding against the pavement, his trench coat flapping behind him, flowing in the wind as he bolted through the night. He could hear the sound John's footsteps pounding behind him. He skirted sharply, his shoes scrapping against the sidewalk as he turned into an alley. If they could just get back to Baker Street, they'd be fine. They had to be. They were being chased by freaking stone statues. That was something that did not happen. This was supposed to be a simple case. A simple murder case. Not a 'let's-get-chased-by-stone-statues' thing. This wasn't even possible though.

So that begged the question again. Why was he running? He paused briefly, turning and grabbing John by the shoulders, his curly hair a complete mess as he breathed in and out. It was winter now, the cold air stinging his lungs as he studied John.

"Why are we running?" He puffed out, his breath visible between the two men as they stood, struggling to catch their breath. John looked confused, blinking his eyes. "Why are we running?" He demanded again, and John glanced back, struggling to come up with an answer. Sherlock could tell.

"Well, there were these-these statues…" John puffed out in reply as Sherlock followed the shorter man's gaze to the statues in question.

"Brilliant deduction, John, but why? Why are we running form the statues? They're statues." Sherlock demanded, stepping back as he stared at the statues, studying them intently with sharp pale eyes. "What can a hunk of stone do to us?" He pointed out, and John gave him a helpless shrug.

"I'm not the one with the brilliant IQ, Sherlock." John bit back, clearly annoyed as he glanced as his friend. Sherlock huffed, stepping back as the statues moved closer, pulling John with him. "So you tell me." The shorter man finished as he stepped back with Sherlock.

"Well, from what I've gathered, they only move when we look away or blink." Sherlock muttered lowly as he stared at the statues, eyes wide.

"So don't blink?" John questioned. "Sounds dandy, Sherlock. That plan is foolproof." He muttered sarcastically.

"John, take this seriously, your sarcasm is not being helpful." Sherlock said dryly as he continued to backtrack. He subconsciously blinked, cursing himself as a statue moved, the stone angels were getting far too close for comfort. He grabbed John roughly, shoving him behind him. "Go John, run." He ordered, still staring at the statues. "There's no way the both of us will get out of here alive."

"No, Sherlock. I am not doing that. I am not leaving you." John said stubbornly, and Sherlock sighed in frustration, shoving John a bit rougher, still watching the statues. He heard the man stumble, but he knew John had caught himself.

"Now, John. Run, I'll be fine." He snapped over his shoulder, wanting to glare at the other man. He couldn't though. The statues, as he had found out, would move if he so much as glanced away. He didn't to look though. John wasn't moving, no footsteps sounded behind him, so that was clear. "Now, John! Or so help me…" He snapped, turning, forgetting in his rage, that he had to be looking at the statues. His body whirled, coat flapping and hitting his legs as he twisted on his heels to glare at his best friend. His breath hitched in throat as he realize his mistake, snapping his head back and moving gracefully back, the statue's claws mere inches away from his face. "John…" He breathed. "Do as I say, please." He was pleading now. Sherlock never pleaded, unless the situation was that dire. He knew John would have to run. Not five seconds later, he heard a defeated sigh.

"Alright, but, Sherlock… You better meet me at Baker Street." John ordered in a rough tone. Sherlock merely gave a grunt of acknowledgement. "I mean it Sherlock. I can't…" He continued, and Sherlock was getting somewhat impatient.

"John, I'll see you at Baker Street." He said finally. "Now go." He ordered, relaxing when he heard John's footsteps fading behind him. "Alright, the game is on now." He grinned a bit, his eyes flicking over the statues with a sort of glee, slowly backing away. This was something new, something very new. He didn't believe in things that couldn't be proven. No, of course not. The thought of God, and angels and such was absurd. But then, how did he explain the statues? He didn't know. What he did know though, was that he was caught, he would have to blink at some time. He was at a lost, unable to determine anything about the statues. He had found it at the crime scene, the owner of the house claiming to have never seen it before. Naturally, they called Sherlock in-as the police were incompetent as ever. He didn't know what to think. Reports were that they had seen their victim, Adam Miles, looking that the statues, and the next, he was gone.

Sherlock continued to step back, his fingers moving slightly, lips pulling into a grin. "Well, what are you?" He asked, mostly to himself. "Because this is physically impossible. Moving stone statues." His eyes were burning, slowly drying up due to not blinking. He had to blink at some point. He had to. His feet scraped against the pavement, a cold wind stinging his pale eyes, making him subconsciously blink. He snapped his eyes open, realizing his mistake, staggering back, staring wide eyed at the groping hands mere inches from his face. He exhaled, still staring at the statue. Slowly, he continued to back away, never letting his eyes stray from the statue. He would turn this next corner, and then would lose sight of the angel. He scuffed his shoes along the pavement, turning the corner and blinking briefly before snapping his eyes open when there was a tug on his collar of his coat, dragging him back just before the angel appeared where he had once stood. He jerked back, whirling around to see who had just saved him from his-what he assumed-was his impending doom, his mouth open slightly as he came face to face with a man wearing a bowtie of all things.

"Well that was close." The man grinned, turning and heading to the large thing in the center of the round room. Sherlock hesitantly followed, glancing around suspiciously.

"Where am I?" He demanded, flicking his eyes to the man as he followed cautiously. "Where's John?" He added, realizing that his friend would have come this way to get to Baker Street. The man glanced up at the question, his body bent over the large console-so Sherlock assumed that's what it was. It sure looked like it.

"Right here, Sherlock." The man in question spoke up from where he was pacing the area just out of Sherlock's view, coming into his view. Sherlock exhaled softly in relief, making his way over, adjusting his coat as he walked up the steps calmly. "Are you alright?" John asked, looking him once over briefly, looking concerned.

"Quite fine, John." He answered calmly, looking at him before turning back to the other man who was fiddling with the console, hands in his pockets as he relaxed his posture, but remained a bit wary.

"We're in the TARDIS. A spaceship and time travel…" The other man started to say, but Sherlock scoffed, looking unamused and perhaps a bit impatient and irritated.

"What a load of rubbish. The thought of time travel is for idiots who can't let go of the past." Sherlock cut into the man's speech, walking over to him, his movement's smooth and calm, mouth open to continue. John knew Sherlock was going to go on a tangent over the man, so quickly cut in.

"Sherlock, let's just hear him out, alright? He did just save your life." He pointed out, walking over to the two men. John caught the man's thankful glance, ignoring Sherlock's look of mild offense.

"Right, as I was saying." The bowtie wearing man started, clapping is hands together as he straightened form where he stood, turning to throw a few levers and push a few buttons. Sherlock watched the man move intently, waiting for him to continue. "This is the TRADIS, bigger on the inside and such, I've heard it all." He flourished, waving his hands. "It's a time-machine, and travels through space." He said, sounding as if he had explained it millions of times before. Sherlock pursed his lips, fighting back the notion to speak up against how all of this was physically impossible.

"And what about the things chasing us? They were statues." John spoke, cutting into Sherlock's thoughts. He had almost forgotten about the angel statues in the craziness that was now happening.

"I am so glad you asked!" He spoke, seeming all to glad to explain the odd statues. "Those were Weeping Angels, cursed angels that have fallen from heaven and were turned to stone. They can't move when you're looking at them."

"Yes, I did notice that." Sherlock noted, watching the man as he pushed a few more levers. "Forgive me for asking, but who are you?" He asked, causing the man to look up with a faint grin pulling at his features.

"Ah, you can call me The Doctor, Sherlock Holmes." He said cheerfully, fingers dancing along the console. He had to stile a laugh at the man's slightly surprised face, before he masked it quickly. It only made sense that he would know who he was. Sherlock was fairly famous, and he was clearly British, so he had to have heard of him.

"Doctor who?" John spoke up, pulling Sherlock from his thoughts. The detective glanced at the man, watching his lips pull into an even wider grin. This man was insane, Sherlock concluded. Insane and in need of help.

"Oh I love it when they ask that." The Doctor answered, shooting them a wide grin as he flicked the last lever up, glancing at a wallet, one that would hold some sort of badge, Sherlock noted. "Geronimo." He whispered with a laugh as the-supposed-spaceship lurched around them. Sherlock wasn't sure what to think of all of this.

Then again, maybe he didn't want to.

* * *

"Stone statues? You're joking." A young man grumbled, his hands placed on the steering wheel. To his right, another man glanced up, glancing at a newspaper article.

"I'm afraid not Dean." The other man replied, looking to his older brother. He studied him carefully. It had taken a lot of gentle pushing to get Dean out of the bunker. He could understand why. Dean had been a demon not but a week ago. "Apparently, these statues have been everywhere where people have disappeared." He explained, brushing his hair from his eyes.

"So, what? These statues just appear and whisk people away?" Dean asked rhetorically, looking at his brother briefly. "Sounds kinda witchy to me. Any connections with the victims?" He questioned, turning his beloved 67 Chevy Impala onto another dirt road.

"Nothing that I can see." Sam said, brushing his hair from his eyes. "The last disappearance was in an old warehouse just down this road. Maybe we should head there?" He suggested, looking up at Dean. The older brother grunted in agreement, turning down another road, heading up to the warehouse.

"Might as well." He answered. "I mean, what could go wrong?" Dean grinned, his green eyes flashing as he looked at Sam, moving to get out of the Impala after shutting the engine off, slamming the door shut. Sam followed him out, rolling his shoulders to get out any stiffness in his long limbs.

"Dean, let's not jinx it, we have horrible luck." Sam chuckled, checking to see if he had his pistol with iron bullets, removing the clip to check the clip. "You ready?" He asked, looking to Dean. The older Winchester nodded, moving to head up to the door. The warehouse was certainly old. The wood was rotting and very soft, a bit of mold growing on it.

"Not exactly an ideal place for a witch to be killing people." He mused, pulling out a flashlight and tossing it to Sam before pulling his own out, flicking it on. "Alright, let's see these statues." He said, wrapping his calloused fingers around the iron handle and shoving the door open, raising his gun and flashlight up quickly. The soft light illuminating about five stone statues, all looking like angels. Slowly, Dean stepped inside, motioning for Sam to follow. Slowly, he made his way up to the statue, studying it as he moved up. "They don't look very threatening." Dean muttered. "At least, compared to actual angels." He laughed a bit, turning to Sam, ignoring Sam's dry look.

This of course, turned out be a bad idea. As Dean turned to face his brother, the statue moved. Its head turned, raising its head from its hands, turning to the two brothers. "Dean!" Sam's frantic voice made the eldest Winchester twist around, facing the statues that was now mere centimeters away from him. The blonde swallowed thickly, slowly backing away.

"Okay, so, they move when we stop looking at them?" Dean asked, looking unsure, and not exactly wanting to test the theory again. He caught Sam's nod out of the corner of his eye. "Alright, so, what's our game plan? If we can't stop looking at them, then…" Dean started, but trailed off, not exactly what to say. Sam shrugged, slowly backing away.

"Could we make a break for it?" He wondered, glancing behind them briefly to see if the entrance was open.

"Are you sure we're faster than them?" Dean muttered, raising an eyebrow at his brother. Sam had admit, Dean was right. They didn't know if they were faster than the statues. "Exactly, so what do we do?" He demanded, looking at Sam briefly, knowing that Sam was staring at the statues.

"I don't know Dean." Sam sighed, scratching the back of his head as he glanced at the statues. His eyes burned painfully, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. They needed help, serious help with this case. He considered praying, but decided against it. No angel would come, besides maybe Cas, but Cas was busy fixing heaven, plus he was low on grace, so he couldn't zap them out of here. "Dean, do you hear that?" Sam said suddenly, causing Dean to look at him, forgetting about the statues as he focused on whatever sound Sam was talking about. It was soft, whirring sort of noise.

"Yea, what is…?" Dean started to say, cutting off abruptly as the sound grew closer quickly. Far too quickly for either brother to react. The warehouse roof creaked as something-Dean didn't know what. He didn't think he wanted to know-slammed into it. The old, rotting wood cracked and crumbled under the heavy weight. "Get down!" Dean shouted to his brother, his voice loud and rough as he hit the floor, scraping his chin as he covered his head just before seeing Sam do the same, hitting the dirty floor as the wooden roof finally gave away. Dean obviously couldn't see what was going on, but there was sound of stone crumbling and a loud thud. Dean was hesitant to raise his head, but slowly did, coming face to face with a large blue, police box. He grunted, sitting up carefully, noticing Sam slowly doing the same. "What the hell…?" Dean mumbled, looking at Sam just as the box opened, revealing a wide, grinning man with a bow tie.

"Somebody call a Doctor?" He asked cheerfully, stepping out, two other figures following him. One was a about Dean's height, with curly black hair and pale skin, dressed in a dark grey trench coat and blue scarf. The other was a shorter, blonde man who stood close to the other man's side, dressed in a jumper and slacks. Dean's natural first instinct was to pull his gun on them.

"Who are you?" He demanded roughly, standing all the way, keeping the gun trained on them. He heard a low scoff sound from the curly haired man, muttering something to his companion at his side, who in turn shrugged, but gave the taller man an expressed look.

"I'm The Doctor, this is Sherlock Holmes, and his friend John Watson, I do believe you called for help?" The bow-tied man said, his lips pulled into a smile as his motion to each person respectively. Dean scowled, shaking his head.

"No, we never did. And, uh, Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean." Sam answered calmly before Dean could make a sarcastic remark, as well as introducing themselves. This brought a frown of The Doctor, turning to look at Sherlock and John, who looked just as lost as Sam and Dean at this. Dean grumbled, still pointing his gun at the man.

"Yea, we never called for help." He repeated, but The Doctor wasn't listening, looking around the-now very destroyed-warehouse. He clearly didn't recognize the threat of the gun, or simply didn't care. There was a few moments of long silence, before The Doctor turned with a small 'Aha!' and faced the Winchesters.

"You did, the TARDIS must have picked up on the Weeping Angels here and taken me here." He said, as if it made sense, ignoring the four looks of confusion on the subject. "Now, everybody get in the TARDIS, we got things to do!" He said joyfully, not giving anyone time to protest as The Doctor moved to shove Sherlock and John into the box, grabbing Sam and Dean's arms and pulling them inside as well.


	2. Chapter 2: The Game Is On

**_Author's Note: _**_Alright guys, second Chapter is here and a bit early then I expected! This one isn't as good in my opinion, and it's more so explaining the plot and the others getting to know each other a bit. I'm rather proud it, but I feel that it could be better. Well, that's all for now, and I hope you guys enjoy._

**_Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING. _**_I forgot to say so last chapter, but all rights go to their respective owners_

* * *

**_Chapter 2: _**_The Game Is On._

"None of this is possible."

Sherlock was the first to break the rather silent ravine that had settled over him and John. The shorter man turned, looking at the man, his body situated on the couch, long trench coat shucked off and hanging on a coat rack nearby. The two were currently putting their things away-or, well, John was at least-in the room The Doctor offered them. It was fairly large, with a coffee table that was already cluttered with Sherlock's various things they had gotten form their apartment. He didn't explain himself further, and John briefly wondered what he meant by impossible. Moriarty's sudden return only a few weeks ago, or everything that had happened not two hours ago. He assumed it was the latter, and shifted from where he was folding his clothes in the drawer to look to his friend.

"What do you mean?" He asked finally, earning a sigh from Sherlock. Of course, Sherlock would get irritated with having to explain himself. He seemed to forget that John was human. At least, a normal human. He watched as Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by the knock on the door.

"Go away!" Sherlock shouted instead of explaining himself, at the same time that John called for them to come in. After a pause, the door slipped open, revealing the tall, long-haired man-Sam, was it?-smiling a bit sheepishly.

"Uh. Sorry for the intrusion, but The Doctor wanted us all in the main room, to, uh, get to know each other better and come up with our next move?" He said, looking from Sherlock to John. Sherlock sighed, but John spoke over it quickly.

"Sure, we'll be right out." He said quickly, hoping that Sherlock's mood would improve. He doubted it though. Sherlock was no doubt having difficult processing everything, which meant he was going to be rather snappy. He was in one of his moods, as John's called it. Sam nodded, smiling awkwardly as he vanished, shutting the door behind him. John turned to look at his friend, whom hadn't moved an inch. "Sherlock, we really should go and at least see what our plan is next. It might even have something to do with Moriarty." He added the last part, hoping to bait his friend into following him as he headed to the door. He heard Sherlock heave a sigh, slowly rising to his feet, his movements smooth and graceful.

"Fine." He muttered, following John out of the room, his hands stuffed into his pockets, looking annoyed and irritated. John chose not to say anything as they wove through the many halls of the TARDIS, eventually making their way into the main room. Sam, Dean, and The Doctor were already there, leaning against the railing, waiting-apparently-for them. There was a brief pause, everyone looking at each other, Sherlock no doubt already deducted most of their life stories, and he knew he wasn't going to speak. Luckily, he didn't have to, because The Doctor spoke up, clearly eager to break the silence.

"Well, I'm The Doctor." He began, rubbing his hands together, his posture slouched and hutched slightly. Despite his clear out-going nature, he seemed rather closed off. "I'm a Time-Lord form the planet Gallifrey and I am over nine-hundred years old." He said, his lips pulling into a wide grin, glancing around at the various looks of puzzlement and disinterest-perhaps irritation?-on Sherlock's part. After a brief pause as they digested the information, Dean coughed, breaking the tension.

"Well, uh, I'm Dean Winchester, and this is Sammy." He said, motioning to his taller-younger-brother, who waved awkwardly. "And, uh, seeing how we're being completely honest here, we're hunters. Not your average deer shooting kind, but we hunt things that go bump in the night. Werewolves, Vampires, Demons, that kind of thing." He said, and Sherlock scoffed loudly, cutting into Dean's explanation as he spoke.

"Right, sure." The consulting detective muttered, eyes flicking over the elder Winchester, clearly deducting him. Clearly he didn't believe him. "The prospect of angels, demons, and among other supernatural beings are absolutely absurd." He said calmly, hands folded behind his back as he moved to pace around the console in the center, his eyes studying the machine-could it really be called that?-with mild interest. John turned back to look at Dean, who looked rather furious.

"Alright then My. Know-it-all, you seem rather sure of yourself, so who exactly are you, The Doctor said your name was Sherlock?" The elder brother bit out darkly, ignoring Sam's calming hand on his shoulder. John glanced to Sherlock, watching as the man paused in his study, glancing at Dean with an intellect, calm, studying gaze.

"Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, the only on in the world." He said, his tone proud, straightening his shoulders as he met Dean's gaze calmly, almost challengingly. "And this, is my friend, Doctor John Watson." He added, gesturing with a hand to where John was standing. John shifted, glancing in between Dean and Sherlock, feeling tension raising slowly in the room. "Now, I do believe we have all been introduced, what's our plan of action." Sherlock continued before anyone could speak oblivious to the tension, breaking eye contact with Dean as he looked down at the main console. His eyes studying it as he waited for a reply, fingers twitching at his back. John turned to look at The Doctor, who was watching Sherlock with half interest, half unease, as if he was scared Sherlock would break something.

"Right, well, I'm not entirely sure what is going on myself, and I don't like not knowing." The Doctor started, and Sherlock smirked form where he stood, chucking in agreement, but said nothing as The Doctor continued. "But those things that attacked you, they're called Weeping Angels. Now, the Weeping Angels are fast inhumanly so, as you all probably noticed. They have one flaw, can't move if something is looking at them, and if in the sight of any living thing, they turn to stone." The Doctor began, making his way around the Console, pacing it as he explained. "But if you look away, if you turn your back, and you blink, they move." He continued, pausing as he looked at everyone. John nodded, watching The Doctor quietly, glancing at Sherlock, who had finally glanced up, and finally seemed interested in the conversation.

"So, how do we kill them? We can't kill stone, and we have to not be looking at them so they aren't stone, seems impossible." Sam asked, finally speaking as looking interesting as he folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the railing. The Doctor almost looked amused, his lips pulling into a smile, a small chuckle in the back of his throat. The man-alien, John corrected himself-spread his hands, nodding at Sam as if to say _'exactly'_.

"We can't." The Doctor said. "The only way to stop them is have them look at each other, therefore, they're looking at each other for eternity." He explained, and Sam nodded slightly, seeming to understand, not speaking as Sherlock finally seemed to join in the conversation.

"But what happens if they grab us. I nearly was grabbed by one, much like Dean." He said calmly, his tone scratching when he spoke the last part, looking at Dean, who simply glared back. Oh boy, this was going to be a long time together if they couldn't get together. The Doctor shifted, seeming uncomfortable with the topic, almost as if the topic was personal. John was mildly interested with his reaction to the topic. Of course, Sherlock was probably oblivious to the man's unease with the topic.

"Well, if one grabs you, and you're unable to look at it fast enough, they kill you." The Doctor answered, his tone a bit somber before he shook his head and continued to explain. "Well, they don't kill you, but you might as well be dead, because the angel sends you back in time and feeds off your lifespan until you die." He whispered softly, the air seeming very heavy now before The Doctor attempted to perk up, straightening his back. "But, that is just a possibility, the more important thing at the moment is what is going on. Why now, and why you four?" He asked, walking over to Sherlock-as he was the closest to him-glancing at the man intently. John watched at Sherlock met The Doctor's gaze calmly, seeming to begrudgingly cooperate for the moment. "What do you guys have in common? You're an ordinary person." He muttered, and Sherlock smirked.

"I'm hardly ordinary." He said calmly, and The Doctor grinned, as if the two shared a private joke. It was amusing, seeing Sherlock interact like he was.

"Indeed, but why? What do you four have someone in common, a common factor in your lives." He muttered, turning away from Sherlock, moving to Sam, then Dean. "I don't see any possible variable!" The Doctor seemed irritated, scratching his head as he paced.

"Perhaps a common person," John spoke up finally, cutting into The Doctor's thoughts, causing the man to turn sharply, snapping his fingers with a grin.

"That's it!" He said joyfully, reminding John of Sherlock when he got a case. These two were rather alike, John chuckled in amusement. "But _who_?" He demanded, looking between the two. "It's doubtful that you two would have common enemies. You're Americans, and your form London." He said, pointing to each respectfully. Dean blinked, not sure if he should be offended, green eyes looking rather confused. "It could take forever to try and figure that out." He frowned, looking deflated now, before Sherlock spoke up.

"Tell me, say I believe that demons and such exist," the detective spoke up, looking to Sam and Dean, clearly on to something. John look at his friend, mildly confused as he blinked with a tilt of his head. Sam and Dean looked interested now, looking to Sherlock, neither interrupting as he went on. "Could it be possible for someone to come back from the dead?" He asked, and Dean frowned, looking at Sam, seeming to share a silent conversation. There was a few moments of silence before Sam spoke up.

"Yes, it is possible, but a deal has to be made. The person to make the deal with the demon has ten years before their soul is claimed. Once the soul is claimed, they're sent to Hell." Sam said, seeming interested as Sherlock nodded to this.

"What if someone made a deal, their soul was claimed, and they were in Hell. Could they come out?" Sherlock asked, walking over to Sam, standing in front of the man. It was weird to see Sherlock look up at someone, but Sam was tall. The detective's head was raised, meeting Sam's eyes intently. Sam seemed uneasy with the subject, but at Sherlock impatient look, he answered.

"Yes, but it would take a very powerful force, an angel, most of the time. Or, if they've been in Hell for a long time, if they let their soul be twisted and turned, they could climb out." Sam answered, rubbing the back of his neck. Sherlock's lips twisted into a grin, looking very gleeful as he turned with an exclamation of joy.

"Ah!" He shouted, looking like someone had just handed him a difficult case. The high-functioning sociopath laughed, turning to John, gripping his shoulders. John looked even more confused, looking surprised at Sherlock's sudden joy. "John, Moriarty! I saw him shoot himself in the head, he was dead, I was sure of it." He said, jolting the shorter man in his joy of solving the case, to a point. "Moriarty died, he made deal to get something, what, I'm not entirely sure, but he went to Hell. He's been in there for two years, John!" He urged, pleading for John to understand, not caring at they were getting odd looks form everyone else.

"He would be turned into a demon, and like Sam said, he must have pulled himself out of Hell. Is that right?" John asked, blinking at Sherlock as the man grinned even wider letting go and jumping slightly.

"Oh this is brilliant!" Sherlock said, shaking his fists with excitement. "This is something new, John." He said, almost seeming to forget the others in the room until The Doctor spoke up.

"So, you think this Moriarty fellow made a demon deal, and two years later, he came back?" He confirmed, looking at Sherlock, who nodded with a look of _'isn't that what I said?'_, then Sam. "Is that possible?" He asked, looking to the Winchesters, who shared a look.

"Yea, I mean, me and Dean have come back from Hell several times." The youngest Winchester said uncomfortably, but no one seemed to think much of it. "So then, what about the Weeping Angels, how does that explain them?" He asked, changing the topic quickly before anyone could question them. The Doctor shrugged, seeming at a lost.

"Maybe the deal had something to do with it? I mean, it is possible." Dean said, looking at Sam, then the others.

"I don't know Dean, it seems a bit fishy to me." Sam replied, rubbing the back of his head.

"Fishy or not, it makes the most sense right now." Dean muttered, leaning back. "I mean, why else would the Weeping Angels go after Sherlock. He's rather ordinary, compared to us." He dropped his voice low so no one else could hear, but his brother, who pursed his lips in thought, nodding. He said nothing as The Doctor spoke up.

"Well, we have our guy, so we think." The Doctor grinned, causing Sherlock to look offended at the fact that The Doctor seemed to not fully believe his theory. "So, how do we find him?" He asked, looking to Sherlock, who seemed at a lost for the question.

"There are omens," Dean said, looking up sharply. "Lightning strikes, dead cattle, a bunch of things." He said, seeming to catch on to where this was going.

"So, we keep an eye out for the omens, and the Weeping Angels until we can pinpoint where he is?" Sherlock concluded, grinning like a Cheshire cat, bouncing a bit on his feet. Everyone seemed to agree, and Sherlock seemed to think that the conversation was done. "The game is on now." He said, turning on his heel and striding out to their room.

"He sure it something else." Sam muttered, and John chuckled, rubbing the back of his head, nodding in agreement.

"Yea, but it's better than him snapping at everyone for this all being rubbish." John agreed, watching as Sherlock's lean figure vanish down the hall. "I just hope this is all over soon." He said, and Sam laughed, nodding his head.

Things were going to be okay for the most part. They had a lead on Moriarty, and an idea on what to do about him. John just hoped that he wasn't speaking to soon.


End file.
